I just completed a commission for a friend, something I never in my wildest dreams thought I would be doing.

It’s a painting of a vase of geraniums, and it’s probably the fiftieth or sixtieth painting I have done in the last six months.

I have always loved art and craft, but especially painting. And I’ve always dabbled here and there, making gifts or cards.

But the older I got, the more fearful I became. The more excuses I made as to why I didn’t have time. I became increasingly convinced that art was a folly, I had no talent, and nobody would want anything I made anyway.

So what was the point?

Well, one Sunday in the midst of COVID gloom, I found myself at a loose end. I wanted a painting to match my new doona cover (I know – not exactly touched by the muse) and my dear friend Sue had gifted me some new paints so I spent the afternoon mucking around and having fun.

I liked what I painted that day so I started painting more, and more, and more.

I became a bit addicted.

I started getting up at 6am to paint. I found something in that early morning quiet that I hadn’t felt in a long time.

There is a moment when I am painting when everything slows down and I am in flow.

A rare kind of peace.

I have painted a lot since that first day and I even had a tiny exhibition at my house. My family and friends have bought paintings, and I hope to sell some paintings to people I don’t know.

Why am I telling you this? To ask you this question: Is there something you love doing that you constantly put off? That you’ve lost confidence in? That you feel diminished without?

Painting has helped me feel like myself again. After years of becoming bleached and brittle with loss, I felt colour returning to my bones.

Make your art. Do it for yourself.

Don’t waste another day denying yourself the risk – and opportunity – of the joy of creation.